


Unwelcome

by hawklies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawklies/pseuds/hawklies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England's got a cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwelcome

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never written these two before, and I'm only a casual watcher/reader of the anime/manga. So hopefully I did alright despite all that, if you think something is terribly ooc please let me know! i'd love to improve.

                “I heard you were ill,” Arthur was peering into his morning tea when the French accent filled the large sitting room. Defiantly he refused to look up and acknowledge the newcomer, at least until there was a rustle of a plastic bag and a small thud on the end table beside him. Even then he only gave a sideways glance to his surroundings. “Must be sicker than I thought, you’ve fallen asleep in your mid-morning tea.”

                In one sweeping motion, Arthur found himself no longer peering into his tea, but into the face of Francis, who had stuck his head between Arthur and the cup. The smarmy bastard had the same flirtatious smirk on his face, the kind that made you wonder if you wanted to punch him or kiss him. Arthur usually settled for punching, which in no way seemed to put Francis off of whatever game he was playing at, because the unwanted guest would always show up again with a new tactic. If anything it made him more determined.

                “Now Arthur, that’s no way to treat a guest, I thought you knew better,” Francis said, pulling away and motioning alluding to the fact Arthur had full well been ignoring him. “But I should have known not to trust an Englishman.”

                “I’m only polite to the _welcomed_ guests,” Arthur took a sip of the tea and, upon discovering it had gone cold, disappointedly set it down on the table beside him, next to the mysterious plastic bag.

                “You do not welcome me? After I spent all morning preparing a soup especially for you?” Francis motioned to the bag.

                “I wouldn’t welcome the likes of you if you spent a whole year making me soup.”

                Francis smirked, and leaned against the arm of another chair in the room, producing a cigarette and nearly lighting it, before Arthur objected to his smoking in the house. So instead he just let it hang in his mouth, lifeless studying Arthur as if he were preparing some great speech. He uncomfortably shifted in his chair, seconds from throwing out the French bastard.

                “It’s only a cold,” Arthur said, quite unsure of why exactly he felt the need to explain himself. But he found that he couldn’t stop, and rushed to finish the sentence. “I must have caught it from Alfred; there was no need for you to waste your time making soup.”

                Francis’s smirk pulled into a full grin before disappearing altogether. He then brought his lighter back to the cigarette, this time successfully lighting it, gladly catching the glare Arthur threw at him.

                “Ah, England, what are we going to do with you.”


End file.
